


The Ongoing Non-Adventures of Tim (the Angel) and Doug (the Demon)

by Powerfulweak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: An Angel and a Demon walk into a bar, Conversations over beer, Gary Busey - Freeform, Gen, My thoughts exactly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerfulweak/pseuds/Powerfulweak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angel and a demon walk into a bar and talk about nothing (and Gary Busey)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fem_castielnovak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/gifts).



> For Fem-Dean Winchester, because Tim and Doug needed more screen time.

Doug strolls into the bar late. Tim’s already there, of course, a beer waiting in front of the empty stool next to him.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Doug says as he takes a seat, offering the closest thing to an apologetic smile that he can muster.

“No, you’re not.” Tim gives a short reply. He’s not angry; The words come out so matter-of-fact, as if he never expected Doug to arrive on time in the first place. Still, Doug makes an attempt to be contrite.

“Well, it’s not like they teach punctuality at demon etiquette school,” he jokes. That earns a chuckle from Tim.

“Demon etiquette school... That’s something I’d like to see,” He smiles takes a sip of his beer. “What’s going on downstairs?”

“Same old, same old.” Doug gives a lazy shrug and takes a sip of his own drink. He reaches into his pocket and drops his phone on the bar. “I was told to hold onto this so that his infernal majesty Crowley doesn’t try to drunk text Dean Winchester again.”

Tim snorts and shakes his head. “That poor bastard.” he mumbles. “Y’know, I almost feel sorry for him, except for the whole, y’know, King of Hell thing.”

“Don’t.” Doug says flatly. “He’s a dick.”

“Doesn’t that come with being a demon, though?” Tim asks, his brow furrowing.

“Do you think I’m a dick?” Doug asks, frowning a little. Normally he wouldn’t care what anyone thought of him; he is a demon afterall. Still, he feels some sort of affinity to Tim, almost bordering on friendship. What a ludicrous idea, though- an angel and demon as friends. Absolutely asinine.

“Well, yeah I think you’re a dick,” Tim answers after a moment. “But like… a cool dick. Like Gary Busey.”

“Gary Busey,” Doug mumbles as he considers that. “Yeah, I’ll take that… What about you? Any news from Heaven I should know?” Tim shakes his head dismally.

“Same shit, different day,” he mutters. “What is it about ruling heaven that turns your average angel into a megalomaniacal ass? I swear, I am so sick of this change of command bullshit, I’m considering turning in my blade and just becoming a reaper.” Doug blinks in surprise.

“Wait… You can do that?”

“No clue.” Tim shrugs. “I mean, I assume so. Reapers are all angels, right?”

“I always thought Reapers were demons?” Doug tips his head side to side.

“No, no...  I’m sure at least some of the reapers were former angels.”

“So, was Death an Angel?” Doug asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I think Death was just Death.” Tim replies.

“So what are reapers?” Doug asks. They both ponder the question as they drink their beer. There’s something about these meetings that Doug really enjoys. Tim is far less uptight than other angels he’s met (Seriously, do they carry their angel blades up their asses?) and he lets Doug bitch about hell and the king without a lecture or advice on what he should do. The rise of familiar voices from outside the bar grab both of their attention.

“Dammit,” Tim mutters. “The Winchesters are here.” He stands from the stool and sets a $20 on the bar.

“Guess we better get lost.” Doug sets down his glass and gets to his feet. He offers his hand to Tim, who gives it a firm shake. “Next week, then?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he replies with a grin. “Have a good day, Doug.”

“You too, Tim.” And in the blink of an eye they are gone, their half-empty beers the only evidence they were once there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update this as I get ideas. Tim and Doug make my bad days better.

“So, I’ve gotta question?” Tim asks one afternoon as he stirs sweetener into his latte. “What… demon are you, exactly?” Doug’s face scrunches together.

“What?” he looks at the angel.

“I mean what are you the demon _of_?” Tim waves a hand in the air, attempting to demonstrate.

“I’m not following.” Doug shakes his head and Tim sighs in frustration.

“I mean, what’s your job… officially?” he clarifies. “Demon of…?” he makes a beckoning motion with his hand, hoping to prompt a response. Doug blinks slowly before snorting and taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah… It doesn’t work like that in Hell.” he says.

“So what? You don’t have a job then?” Tim asks, surprised.

“No, no, I mean I do have a job, responsibilites, that kind of thing, but…” he screws up his face, trying to think of an explanation. As much as he enjoys Tim’s company, sometimes there is a distinct divide in understanding between them. Not that it’s a bad thing necessarily, but trying to explain the workings of Hell to an angel is like trying to teach Freakanomics to a starfish.

“Look, Hell is a bureaucracy,” Doug explains. “There’s lots of paperwork, forms, standing in lines… that kind of thing. I’ve had a lot of different jobs, but right now I’m pretty much responsible for handing out forms 1068456-A and B.””

“Ok, so what are those?”

“I don’t know,” Doug replies, shaking his head. He’s never looked at the forms before; no doubt it’s some awful legalese thought up by crossroad demons like his Royal Pain-in-the-Ass, Crowley. Those asskissers.

“What about you?” Doug asks, shifting the topic back to Tim. “You’re the Angel of Something, I’m guessing?” Tim nods, a slight, proud look crossing his features.

“I’m the Angel of Dissociative Dysmorphia.” he replies. “It’s, uh, that feeling when you look down at your hands and you feel like they should be really big, but they’re not really big and you’re not quite sure why.”

“Ooook,” Doug answers slowly.

“Or when you feel like your head should be enormous, but you know everything is as it should be.”

“And that has a name?” Doug raises a eyebrow.

“Yup, and I’m the Angel of it.” Tim flashes a small grin.

“That is really specific man.” Doug chuckles.

“Well, y’know, God… kind of ran out of jobs.” Tim shrugs. “He created a lot of angels and there just wasn’t enough stuff to go around. You gotta remember, this was kind of before Earth and humans and stuff.” Doug shrugs and take another sip of his drink. The early afternoon crowd slowly filters into the shop, searching for the caffeine boost to get them through the day.

“I got a question for you: Why are we meeting in a coffee shop rather than a bar?” Doug asks. Tim frowns.

“It’s two in the afternoon. Little early for drinks, isn’t it?” Doug rolls his eyes.

“Meh, time is a human constraint,” he says. “Like gender… or farts.” Tim looks at him doubtfully, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, I think that’s wrong,” he says. “Everything farts.”

“Demons don’t,” Doug counters.

“Well, no, but you guys are kind of… _just_ farts, though.” Doug sits up straight and narrows his gaze at Tim.

“That’s rude,” he says.

“Well, c’mon,” Tim holds his hands out. “You’re big, dark clouds of smoke that smell like sulfur. How are you not a fart?” Doug’s shoulders sink. He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“I’m offended,” he says, looking off to the side. “You’ve offended me.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Tim groans.

“You called me a fart.” Doug levels his stare at him. “That hurts, man. That hurts.” Tim sighs, looking contrite.

“Didn’t think I could hurt a demon’s feelings.” he mumbles.

“Well, you can,” Doug huffs. He looks away, but he can still see Tim’s morose expression out of the corner of his eye. He’s not really upset with Tim; Technically, he isn’t entirely wrong about demon’s being farts, but what’s the point of being a demon if you can’t fuck with your angel friend a little bit.

“If I say we can go to a bar, will that make it better?” Tim asks. Doug glances at him with a smirk.

“I suppose,” he says.

“Meet you there?” Tim sits up straight, the air around him shifting visibly where his wings sit.

“Sure,” Doug rises from his chair. There is a soft gust of wind, hardly noticeable to the other patrons, as they disappear.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm coming down from con and writing T&D always makes me feel better. Unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes.

The sit side by side on the upper level patio of the bar, stools turned to overlook the horizon. Tim takes a deep breath and smiles at the scenery, the cityscape stretching out before them for miles and miles.

“Is that an angel thing?” Doug asks, leaning toward him.

“Hmm?”

“The ‘being-up-high’ thing?” He clarifies. “Like do angels have some sort of affinity to heights or something?” Tim considers the question as he takes a sip of his microbrew.

“I don't know,” he replies. “I can't say I've spent much time with other angels on elevated structures. Others may gain some enjoyment from it, but I can't speculate.” He gives Doug a side-eye look and raises a brow.

“Why do you think it's an ‘angel thing’?” Tim asks suspiciously. “You spend a lot of time with other angels in high places?” Doug rolls his eyes.

“You think I would last 10 seconds in the presence of other angels?” he asks. “Anyone else but you would smite the shit outta me without a second thought.” Tim nods in reluctant agreement. 

“I guess, but the doesn't explain where you get all these assumptions about angels?” 

Doug shrugs. “I don't know, man… Movies?” Tim scoffs and shakes his head. 

“Wow, man. Just… Wow.” he mutters. “Way to reduce my entire species to a broad stereotype.”

“Oh c’mon, at least your portrayal is positive. Most humans assume I have a tail and horns.  _ That _ is offensive.” Tim doesn't say anything, instead taking a sip of his beer. He and Doug fall into a comfortable silence, the noise of the outdoor bar becoming a soft, low drone around them.

A waitress breezes past them, dropping two more bottles in front of them. Tim picks up the bottle, but as he is about to take a sip he can feel Doug’s eyes on him.

“What?” he asks, suspicious of what he wants. 

“Soooo,” Doug drawls, tracing a finger over the wooden bar before him. “I was wondering if maybe…” 

“What?” Tim sighs.

“...If maybe I could see it.” He looks up at Tim with big hopeful eyes, worrying his bottom lip between his front teeth.

“Excuse me?” Tim asks.

“I want to see it,” he repeats.

“See it,” Tim looks at him skeptically, “or touch it?” Doug gives an exaggerated eye roll. 

“Touch it, hold it, whatever, the semantics don’t matter,” he sighs. “Can I just… Just please?” Tim stares at him for a long moment, regretting the first time he let this happen all over again. Doug looks so eager and hopeful; Tim knows he won’t shut up until he takes it out.

“Fine,” he says. “Only five minutes, though, ok?” Doug beams, his eyes flashing black in excitement for a moment before returning to normal.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he agrees. Tim shifts his weight on the stool and extends his right arm down toward the floor. There is a soft “snikt” noise as his angel blade juts from his sleeve. He lifts his arm slowly and extends the blade out to Doug.

“ _ Who-ho-oa _ !” Doug giggles, taking it reverently. “This is awesome!” 

“Yeah, you’ve said so before?” Tim replies, taking a sip of his beer and trying to remain nonchalant about a demon handling his angel blade.

“I mean it, though,” Doug continues, holding one hand back and brandishing the blade like a fencing foil. “This is so badass. You guys are so lucky to get swords.”

“You guys?”

“Angels. You know what I mean,” Doug clarifies. “God, I wish we got swords.”

“It’s not a sword, it’s a blade,” Tim corrects, flinching as Doug stabs it into the air a few times.

“It’s a big ass knife, can we just agree on that?” he gives Tim a withering look. “I mean it, though, why does your bunch get weapons and we don’t?”

Tim shrugs; he’s never really considered the question. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess… you guys have all that demon magic and summoning stuff.”

“Well, yeah, demon magic is good and all,” Doug says, running his fingers over the side of the blade, making Tim cringe. “But, like, you get magic too. You can smite stuff and the light pours out of your eyes and shit… And you get a weapon  _ on top of that _ !” 

“You don’t really understand how angelic powers work, do you?” Tim says, shaking his head

“I’m not required to so, no, I don’t learn,” Doug says, playfully slamming the blade on the bar, causing Tim to bristle. “All I’m saying is that demons get screwed out of weapons.” Tim bites at the corner of his lip as he thinks about this.

“Well…  there are demon blades, aren’t there?”

“Blade.  _ Singular _ . One blade,” Doug sighs. “Do you know how hard it is to share a single knife between a million demons?” Tim tries to reach for his angel blade, but Doug picks it up again, twirling it in his hand.

“Well, maybe it’s better that you guys don’t weapons,” Tim offers. “Our blades can kill anything-”

“And that is awesome,” Doug interejects.

“No, what I mean is that the angel blades can kill  _ anything _ : humans, demons, other angels. We’re  more susceptible to danger because there are millions of blades out there.” Doug glances at him doubtfully.

“Bullshit. You’re angels.” he says.

“Yeah, you’re right, we are, but we each have a weapon that can kill all of the others given the right circumstances,” Tim explains. “And it’s even worse now because now there are all of these abandoned angel blades lying all across the planet. We never know who might have one.” Doug frowns and takes a sip of his beer.

“Hmm, I’ve never really thought about it like that, I guess,” He says. He lifts the blade up and examines it. “Still though...This is really cool.” He holds the blade tight and swings it around, making “vyoom” noises with his mouth as he does. With every movement, Tim’s shoulders tense.

Doug stops and narrows his eyes at him. “You can stop flinching. I’m not going to hurt your damn knife. This thing is practically indestructible.”

Tim gives a tight headshake. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt the blade.”

“Then why do you keep cringing?” Doug asks, flipping the blade in the air.

“Because,” Tim tenses as Doug swings it to the side, “that blade is,” another swing, “made of my,” a jab forward, “Grace and it,” a flick of the wrist and a stab to the side. “Feels weird  _ would you fucking stop that! _ ” 

Doug’s eyes widen in mock offense. “Language!”

“Would you please stop doing that with my blade?” Tim asks pleadingly. Doug glances at the shining blade and then at Tim.

“For real? That’s your grace?”

“You know angel blades are made from grace.” Tim says.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know they were directly connected.” Doug beams. He runs his finger up and down the blade and Tim squirms as a shudder runs over his spine. “You can feel that?”

“Yes!” Tim stresses. “I mean it, Doug, it feels weird. Please stop.”

“Like how weird?” Doug raises an eyebrow. “‘Funny feeling in your swimsuit area’ weird? Painful weird? A little of both?” Tim gives him an incredulous look.

“What? No.” he says. “It just feels weird, like… pins and needles.” 

“How do you know what pins and needles feel like?” Doug laughs.

“Look, I can’t really explain it without getting into angelic biology, but let’s just leave it that if you don’t stop I will tickle you until you’re forced to smoke out of you vessel.” Doug freezes.

“You wouldn’t?” he glares at Tim.

“I know how to tickle every atom of your body. Don’t test me,” he warns. It’s a little low, but it’s Doug’s fault for revealing that he was ticklish in the first place. Doug may be a good demon, but angels are master strategists who know how to exploit all available weaknesses. 

Doug’s shoulders drop and he sets the blade on the bar where Tim picks it back up, slipping it up his sleeve once more.

“Thank you,” Tim mumbles. Doug slumps down, chin in his hand as he takes lazy sips from his bottle.

“You play dirty, y’know that?”

“I know you don’t bring an angel blade to a tickle fight.” Tim flashes a cheesy smile at Doug, who shakes his head. They sit in silence for another minute until a thought occurs to Doug.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he says, twisting around on his stool. “Didn’t you die?” 

“Hmm?” Tim pauses mid-sip of his drink, raising an eyebrow.

“Like I heard awhile back that the Darkness took you out,” Doug says. “You’re supposed to be dead, right?” Tim sets his bottle down and thinks about this. He knows he could tell Doug the truth, but he doubts he would even believe him. No, he’ll hold onto that information for a time when Doug might be more open to it. 

Tim scrunches up his face and tilts his head to the side. “Naaaah,” he says with a dismissive swipe of his hand. Doug blinks in confusion but gives an accepting shrug, raising his hand to signal the waitress for another round.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://powerfulweak.tumblr.com/)


End file.
